Wedding for One & Tattoo for Two by Dawn Atkins

Author:Dawn Atkins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

2

HOLLISTER MARX BANGED on the shop door again. What kind of maniac put a tattoo on a nineteen-year-old girl? He’d make the guy pay to have it removed, by God. Of course, Leslie wouldn’t want it removed. Not until she’d settled down and realized how stupid a tattoo was. Then she’d have to scrounge up five grand for the painful laser procedure to remove it and this guy would be long gone.

The idea made him even angrier. Bam. Bam. Come on. It was only six-thirty. Somebody had to still be there. He cupped his hands around his face so he could see through the glass of the door. The place looked clean at least—lots of hanging plants and candles. Odd for a place frequented by lowlifes, delinquents and ex-cons. And his poor confused sister.

Damn. He wished Leslie would just grow up. By the time he was her age, he was already on a career path. At a certain point you had to give up some options and just do the right thing. On top of that, he didn’t have enough time to keep bailing her out of irresponsible jams.

He had enough on his hands dealing with the new office and now the new wrinkle with Rachel. He couldn’t believe she’d bought the rings. Rings? They’d barely talked about taking their relationship to the next level and she’d gone and bought a “trio.” God. I couldn’t resist. The price was perfect. Sometimes Rachel’s practicality irked him. Besides, ever since the “M” word had come up, he’d felt dead inside. When he’d told her he needed time to figure this out, Rachel had been furious.

The door at the back of the shop opened. Good. But, instead of the big-bellied bruiser he’d expected, a petite woman strode toward the door. He caught a blaze of black leather, a multitude of earrings, an irritated expression and nice cleavage.

She opened the door an inch. “We’re closed.”

“I need to talk to you about a tattoo.”

She opened the door wider. “You want a tattoo?” Amusement shadowed the annoyance in her voice. She’d pegged him as a yuppie. He shouldn’t care, but he felt self-conscious in his Dockers, golf shirt and styled hair.

“It’s not for me. It’s my sister.”

She frowned, but let him enter, crossing her arms as she waited for his explanation. Even as he steamed, he couldn’t ignore how good she looked. She was pretty, despite the thick makeup, earrings everywhere and pink-tipped hair. Her leather halter top cupped great breasts and exposed a flat stomach above a skin-tight animal-spotted miniskirt. She’d look great on a motorcycle. Like the one he had in mind to rent for his make-sense-of-it-all getaway. Focus, Hollis.

“You gave my sister a tattoo,” he said, getting to the point.

“And?”

“And… the thing is outrageous—this Amazon woman on her shoulder.”

“What’s your sister’s name?”

“Leslie Marx. She was in here this afternoon.” Leslie’s friend Jeannie had told him this was the shop she’d gone to.

The tattooist considered the name, a smile flickered, then faded. She shook her head.

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